Please Stop Making Feminism All About Men

I admit I teared up a little while I watched the video of Emma Watson’s lovely speech at the U.N. As a life-long fan of Harry Potter, I felt an immense surge of pride for her. She is doing exactly what Hermione Granger would do. Her speech was detailed, intelligent, and passionate, and I felt the utter sincerity in her words when she said, “I care about this problem.” I felt joy and relief when she outright stated that she lives in a space of privilege. I could tell that Emma Watson knew what she was talking about and believed wholeheartedly in what she was saying. But unfortunately, this speech was not as “game-changing” as the clickbait of Internet news media led me to believe. Much of Watson’s speech was agonizing the way it structured gendered inequalities. In particular, when Watson pointed out that freeing men from gender roles would, by consequence, free women, I was actually quite angry. Again the need to put men first—by this logic, men must be freed from patriarchy and then women can be free. No. That is not equality. That is not what feminism is working towards. Feminists are not here to free men and then be freed afterwards. It is about freeing everyone, in the same instant, from the toxic cesspool that is the gender binary. By making feminism about saving men, it inverts the entire idea. Feminism is about the equality between the genders/sexes and the reason that there is not equality is because men oppress women. They are not oppressing themselves when they reject socially coded feminine qualities like empathy, compassion, or passivity. They certainly are harming themselves, as Watson points out, but it is not the job of women to protect men from the negative consequences of patriarchy. Women already have enough crap to deal with in relation to negative consequences of patriarchy.

A Brief Account of My Time in India

I love to travel. It is what I’m best at. When I travel, I never stubbornly stick to previously made plans. I am open to new situations, I am eager and curious, and I always try to fully experience my surroundings. I observe the people who live in places that I am just an outsider to, and I take note of how they walk, talk, eat, and interact. I try to copy those people, and fully integrate myself into places so very different from my own home. I love to travel because I fall in love with every single place I go. Oftentimes, I take mental pictures of my surroundings, so that I can see those places forever. I try to capture sounds and smells and sensations in my memory, because I love it all so much that I never want to forget. I went to India last December. I was gone for two months. I got back just three days before my fifteenth birthday. That was nearly eight months ago, but it feels so recent that sometimes I still accidentally say, “I just got back from India." Before that, about a year and a half ago, I went to the UK and Ireland with my best friend. And before that, I was seven, hiking the base of a volcano, surrounded by the sound of howler monkeys. I didn't know it then, but I had made the best and worst mistake of my life: traveling. It became an addiction, but I never, ever want to stop. Almost one year ago, my mom and my six-year-old sister River and I went along with my ten-year-old sister Phoenix’s homeschool co-op for a field trip. The co-op, called the Bhakti School, is run by a family that my own family has known for years. We were going to the UVA Lawn for a guided meditation with Deepak Chopra. Since then, I have never seen so many fancy white people interested in yoga at one time! Afterwards, my mom asked me if I wanted to go to India. It was completely spur of the moment. It felt so random, yet perfect. I said yes, but I was nervous. I hardly knew anything about India outside of the small bit of knowledge that I gleaned from geography in seventh grade, and I wasn’t even particularly interested in India. But I wanted to travel, and I was very curious. I was going to go with the Bhakti School family, and be the au pair for the two boys, who were nine and eleven at the time. Back then, I had known the family for a while, but hadn’t really seen them regularly since I was a small kid and did homeschool co-ops. Now, it’s kind of funny to think that I didn’t really know them, because they’re kind of like my second family.

What the Tooth Fairy Taught Me About Feminism

When I lost my first tooth, I expected the tooth fairy to leave me a dollar or two like she did for all my pioneering gap-toothed friends. A couple of loose teeth would trade in nicely for an after-school TCBY parfait, or so my seven-year-old logic went, because children don’t understand irony. My baby teeth were a little late to the party, but when I finally wiggled one out, I did not get a Washington or a Lincoln. Instead, the tooth fairy left me a large silver coin with a woman’s face I didn’t recognize. Because I knew my mother was the true power behind all fictional visitors, I immediately brought the coin to her and demanded an explanation, mainly, “Does TCBY accept this form of payment?”

My mother sat with me on the edge of my parents’ bathtub and proudly explained that it was a Susan B. Anthony dollar. Minted from 1979 to 1981, it was the first U.S. coin that honored a real, human female figure. (This was a few years before the Sacagawea “golden dollar.”) Susan B. Anthony was as brave and significant as any male president. She was a rebel, devoting her life to the anti-slavery and women’s suffrage movements—Look her up! She’s a total badass.

Yes, Dear, They Are Playing Our Songs

Editor's Note: This essay is centered around the narrator's relationship with Albany, New York, state capital and college town. Designed as a mixtape-style EP with four tracks of liner notes, the narrator provides a glimpse into her first year as upstate New York resident and the rights of passage of a woman concluding her late 20's—hitting her stride within her profession, establishing a personal space, and celebrating a life of "single blessedness."

“Local Girls” Graham Parker & The Rumour I return to Albany after a 3-year attempt at domesticity in the Green Mountains. My “lost weekend” a failed experiment.

Albany is the city where I grew up. I came here at eighteen—a baby-faced, anxiety-ridden college freshman. I left at 21 with my Master’s degree and mixed feelings.

Now 28, I struggle to figure out where I fit in here—I am not a local and my academic days seem far behind me. I travel two to three weeks every month for work—Chicago. New York. Kansas City. Milwaukee. I’m that person who goes “let me check my schedule” before making commitments.

People stop inviting you after a while.

My apartment is an attempt to define the life of a working woman. An ecru couch and sisal rugs accent restored hardwood floors—only possible within a “no pets, no kids” lifestyle. Rich coffee-colored leather chairs designed for snow days with chai lattes served in hand-thrown pottery. Books stacked on every surface with my own particular logic ascribed their organization. A kitchen island for a desk, the butcher-block top spacious enough to accommodate the latest work assignment. It is my sanctuary. My female answer to the bachelor pad or man cave. I try to invent the feminine term, but all my suggestions sound like slang for vagina.

Banana Boy

I ran from my locker and through the empty hallway to the dim nook housing the television studio. As I pushed through the door, a cackle exploded from Felicity*. She and Dorothy* were sprawled on the green corduroy sofa. This was my cue to immediately take the beaten up armchair and have Dorothy bring me up to speed on the latest story. The gossip had already begun, and this was essential knowledge—even if it made me squirm to think about it later. If you had asked fifteen-year-old me to name the local master of sex, I would've said Felicity. Despite being a brain when it came to school subjects, I knew nothing about sex. I hadn't even had my first kiss yet. Felicity was just the opposite. Two years older than me, she was in danger of flunking out of high school. Yet she seemed to hold the key to the magical, mystical world of sex. My first semester sophomore year, Felicity was my oracle. That's why I tagged along with Dorothy to listen to Felicity's monologues before the first bell rang. Dorothy, a good friend, was in my grade and had met Felicity in an elective class. Dorothy was equally as clueless as I was. We looked up to Felicity because we could ask her anything without fear of judgement.

Ladies In Love

I read a remarkable article about how saying “I have a boyfriend” to deter unwanted sexual advances is counterproductive. The writer makes a good point of explaining why saying "I have a boyfriend" to ward off unwanted advances implies that you are “spoken for” as opposed to speaking for yourself. In the heat of rejecting strangers’ come-ons, I almost never contemplate the politics of what I’m saying. In that moment, I’m trying to diffuse the situation with a “whatever works” policy. I always thought of the "I have a boyfriend" excuse as a convenient half-truth since it’s not entirely false. An imposing stranger is hardly entitled to any answer, let alone a thoughtful and honest one, which would involve my elaborating upon my sexual orientation.And I admit it: I eventually started saying “I am a lesbian” after I learned the hard way that these abrasive guys mostly disregard what I now call the "girlfriend alibi." If I tell the guy who won't leave me alone at a bar that I have a boyfriend and there are no men beside me, he’ll usually start talking about how “lucky” he is, how he isn’t there with me and doesn’t need to know, what kinds of food they'd like to eat out of my pants, etc. These lines are all pathetic attempts to convince me that I should choose this deluded crackerjack over my partner. Well, if the boyfriend alibi isn't that effective, the girlfriend alibi is even less effective. These strange men hardly ever accept that I’m with someone, let alone a female someone. But most of the time, an imaginary girlfriend simply doesn't work as well as an imaginary being that they imagine to have a penis. I have a feeling that if I were to tell these suitors about my girlfriend's penis, they would see me as more "weird" than "taken." They'd probably go on about how I haven't had "a real man" and why the live, in-the-flesh man in front of me is the perfect candidate to give me a taste of "authentic" man-meat. #cringecity Besides, to out my girlfriend would risk her life.

Imagine an unfamiliar person telling you that they're in a relationship. Now, try to imagine asking them if they have sex together. I visualized this scenario and laughed because it reminds me of how children ask if you kiss your spouse. Let's face it: These guys are not asking me questions like that because they think that I might be asexual or because they have some kind of respectful intention like that. It's a rule of society that's not as unwritten as you think because it is, in fact, explicit. When someone tells you that they have a significant other, it's usually a polite way of saying "no thanks." Until monogamy stops being the norm, it's going to stay that way.

The Burlesque Booty Queen

Editor's Note: The following was originally an exclusive interview withLuna Luna Mag, but our friends there have been kind enough to let us republish their words with Jan Tina.

Image: Michi R. Studio Rezin

Hello, Jan Tina! Thank you so much for taking the time to talk with Luna Luna magazine. Ok, so I’m going to be totally honest from the get-go. I saw you perform at #whatdatbootydo2 and I was blown away by your performance. And since then I’ve pretty much been lurking on your Facebook and taking notes. This is for a professional interview. I am notthat creepy! But I thought a disclaimer might be in order since some of the questions I have for you come directly from things I saw on Facebook. LYNSEY: So first question: are you totally freaked out by people lurking on your Facebook? (I really hope not.)

JAN TINA: Not really…I have learned to look at lurkers as admirers. I am flattered actually! Thank you.LYNSEY:All right, now that the air is totally clear! Tell me about yourself, Jan Tina! I hear that you are originally from the Detroit area. What brought you to New York, and how long ago did you arrive?

How One Haircut Changed My Perspective On Girly

When I was twenty, I cut off all of my hair. Granted, I’d never had super long hair, but it usually fell to about my shoulders. But one day I walked into the salon, clippers were applied, and I walked out with my first pixie cut. It was a strange feeling. I’d never realized how much of my own personal femininity was bound up in my hair. Immediately, I felt as though I had to compensate for that femininity in ways I never had before. In those first few weeks without much hair, I learned a lot about make-up, blow-drying, and accessorizing—all things I’d never really given much thought to before, when I had girly hair. I’d never considered myself to be a particularly feminine person. I generally preferred pants to dresses (although that has changed…), didn’t wear a lot of make up, and chose comfort over style. But suddenly, with my safety net femininity blanket completely gone, I had some soul searching to do. The year I spent actively keeping my hair short was a time of personal growth. While I buzzed my hair down as far as I possibly could, I was figuring out a lot of things about myself. I wore more dresses. I bought nicer shoes. Most importantly, to me, I learned that I should focus my make-up on my lips rather than my eyes. I grew into a sense of style that was ultimately shaped and cradled by having short hair. Femininity is something that is a part of me in a way I can’t explain. Sure, I pick and choose which aspects of femininity are more or less important to me, but in general, I adhere to most of the standards. Realizing that femininity is a part of who I am made me feel better about doing things that I previously thought were “too girly”—like caring about clothes or liking the color pink. A lot of feminine things get a bad rap these days. For some reason, people have decided that it’s better to make bimbo jokes about put-together women than to take a moment to think about the role femininity plays in our society. I think it would be healthy if everyone out there who reads this takes a moment to think about something feminine you like. Something downright girly that makes you smile. And don’t be ashamed of it.

Things You Must Start Doing By Your First Period

​Catch your first crimson wave? It’s time to put your grandma panties on and grow the fetch up. If you haven’t already accomplished these things, your life is basically over and no one will ever love you, except that mangy cat no one else would adopt and that girl at Sephora who’s paid to feed on your insecurities. (Seriously, someone tell me. Is my skin really beautiful or do I need primer? I’m so confused, Sephora girl.)

• Find a fattening ingredient to be allergic to. Gluten is a little passé, but like I said, you should’ve done this by now. If you admit you’re on a diet, no one will ever love you.

• Look like you woke up airbrushed without makeup and shame everyone else for not being “natural.” Extra points if you post a #nomakeup selfie to IntaFaceTwit #innerbeauty #nofilter #flawless #boyslikeitnatural #Idontneedadermatologist #toobadifyoudontlooklikethis #insertcomplimentsandotherthingshere #TELLMEIMBEAUTIFUL #IknowImhot. If you act like you care about your appearance, no one will ever love you.

You Have My Bow

The year was 2001. I was eleven years old, and still very much a child. A dorky child at that. My uniform of a baggy yellow sweatshirt and too-long sweatpants complimented my lopsided mullet and crooked glasses perfectly. While my old elementary school friends were joining the basketball team and going on awkward first dates with boys, I was drawing myself as a Sailor Scout and listening to Linkin Park. The naughtiest thing I ever did was sneak into the TV room past midnight to watch Inuyasha. I was, without a doubt, the most non-sexual creature on the planet.

2001 was also the year the first Lord of the Rings live action movie came to theaters, and like any proper dork I went with a few of my equally dorky friends a few days after the release. With our parents as chaperones of course, since the movie was PG-13.

I knew nothing about the Lord of the Rings going into the movie, but the enthusiastic squawking of all my friends told me that I was in for a treat. As the lights dimmed and the story of the One Ring began, I felt a tingling of excitement rush through my body. This was going to be awesome. It was so fucking boring.

The hobbits didn’t do anything! They just bumbled around and hid from the bad guys. That’s all they did. Aragorn and Gandalf could at least fight the Nazgul, but after that all they did was brood sullenly and speak cryptically about what was coming, respectively. Super dull, the whole thing.

I spaced out for most of the first half of the movie. By the Council of Elrond, I was ready for a nap. This movie was a huge waste of time.